Moving on
by 2-huge-tiva-shippers-and-mary
Summary: This is a one-shot kind of based on the promo for 11x13. After Delilahs death McGee struggles to cope with the pain and the loss. A random encounter and some wise words might help him move on. *We suck at summaries but PLEASE give it a try*


**A/N:**** Hello citizens of the Fanfictionville. It's 1st-huge-tiva-shipper and mary talking to you right now. This baby was created a couple of months ago when we were planning the "Holding on and letting go" ff. In that ff we wanted to kill off Delilah but decided against it because we love McGee and wanted him to be happy. But with the promo for the next episode where our idea might actually become a reality we decided to upload it as a one-shot. The ideao of killing of Delilah was 2nd-huge-tiva-shippers but I aka 1st-huge-tiva-shipper was the one who wrote it. I also want to thank mary who typed it. Enouh with the blabbing now, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: We own nothing but we wish we did. **

_Right punch._ THIS._ Left punch._ IS._ Right punch._ NOT._ Left punch._ FAIR. _Side kick._

McGee has been beating the life out of the punching bag, available at the NCIS gym, for the past three hours or so.

It's been a week since Delilah's funeral, but it felt like yesterday that the doctors had told him that she had died, and the pain hadn't faded away. Instead it was even stronger. Every little thing he laid eyes on reminded him of her. Even the leather couch that he had in his living room was full of memories of them watching movies, talking and having more inappropriate, for the moment, fun.

She was the only woman who understood and accepted his intelligence. She was smart too. And beautiful, really beautiful, with those stunning blue eyes that would hypnotise him and that amazing body that was just _wow. _McGee never thought he would ever be able to score a woman like her, because let's face it, he is not really sexy and he is, also, socially awkard.

But Delilah loved him for who he was and never asked for anything more than he could give her and, according to her, it was more than enough. After almost a year of relationship, he was planning on proposing to her on their one year anniversary. He had in mind where. At the restaurant, where they first met.

It was a funny story. He smiled at the memory of their first meeting.

_They were sitting at adjoining tables, alone. Both their dates had been canceled. Call that a coincidence. She was the first to talk, asking him if he could make her some company, because her date had canceled and she wasn't planning on going home, because he had payed for the dinner. And he did. He joined her and they ended up talking all night long, until the restaurant closed. They talked about various topics and were both surprised to find out that they worked for two federal agencies._

_After the restaurant's manager kicked them out of the place, he offered to drive her home and she accepted. When she told him that, that was the best date of her life, he could not agree more._

He was planning on taking her to that restaurant, at the same table and confess all his feelings for her. Not that he didn't tell her that he loved her everyday, but it would be different. He would bend on one knee, with the ring he had gotten her -a simple silver band decorated with a blue diamond that matched her eyes- and ask her to marry him. Heck, he even asked for permission from her father, who was happy to give him her hand.

He restes his head on the punching bag.

But no, apparently God thought he didn't deserve happiness. He had proofs. One, he gets bitten by a dog (he is glad about that actually, because Jet, "Jethro", has been a good and loyal friend even to this day). Two, he is forced to swim in a river full of nuclear waste to recover a murder weapon. And three, a piece of glass finds its' way through his lower abdomen, missing vital organs, but still leaving a scar that reminds him of that day.

He subconsciously places his hand over the scar. How did his thoughts end up here, wasn't he thinking about Delilah?

_Right punch._

His head has been a mess lately. But who can blame him? The only chance he ever got to become a happy man slipped from his fingers, as soon as it was given to him. This is too much for anyone, let alone him.

_Left punch._

He thinks he hears someone calling out his name, but he can't hear clearly, as his heart is pounding in his ears. He doesn't pay any attention and begins punching the bag again, _hard._ He is about to give it a kick with his right foot, when the bag falls flat on the floor.

"What the hell?" he whispers looking around.

"I did it." says a familiar voice. "A few more kicks and we would need a new one."

"The Director can keep it from my paycheck." replied McGee while taking off his fighting gloves.

"You don't want that. Your paycheck is already low." McGee didn't answer. He just kept staring at the person in front of him. "What do you want, Bishop?" he asked her angrily.

"Nothing." she simply said. "It's just that, I've been watching you beating the crap out of that bag for the past hour and I'm worried about you."

"You don't have to be worried about me. I can take care of myself. I'm not a child." He walked away from her and threw the gloves somewhere close to the lockers.

"You can't forbid me from worrying about you. We are teammates, we are supposed to look after each other." Bishop said with a sad voice.

"Like I said before, I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF." he said emphacising every word. "I don't want you to look at me like I'm some helpless guy. I don't want your pity. All I want is for everyone to leave me alone. That's why I'm doing what Gibbs said, I'm taking a leave. I don't know for how long, but I'm leaving." he said bitterly. He then took off his shirt, grabbed a white towel that was lying nearby and began whiping off, from his upper body, the sweat that had been released during the workout.

Bishop was taken aback by that gesture. She always believed that McGee was shy and had manners, which meant that he would go to the locker and change.

She can't say that she minds though. She has to admit that she enjoys the view. Don't take her wrong, she is happily married and loves her husband, but that doesn't mean that she can't admire a handsome man, as much as her husband admires beautiful women.

Well, for starters, McGee is not like she imagined. It's not that she imagined of him, God no, it's just sheer curiosity.

He has muscles that are just about right. He looks more like a top model, than a federal agent. He would be the best choice for the ''Best Federal Agent'' magazine.

Only when he made a move to wear a t-shirt, did she notice a scar in the lower part of his torso. "Why would he have a scar? As far as I know, he was never kidnapped by any criminal or something similar. Oh wait, maybe he was caught too in the explosion, that happened in the Navy Yard, two years ago. Yeah, that has to be it." she thought to herself.

McGee was about to leave when she remembered the reason why, she had wanted to talk to him in the first place.

"McGee listen." she began. "There is something you should know before you leave." She placed her left hand on his forearm. McGee rised his head and looked at her confused.

"I know that I probably don't know what you're going through, but I can imagine. I don't blame you for the way you are acting or that you want to take a break from us. I am pretty sure that if something like this ever happened to my husband, I would be devastated too." She took a breath and continued. "But don't forget that there are people out there, who really care about you and want to help in any way they can. Don't you ever forget that, you hear me?"

He nods his head.

"Good. The only thing you need to do, is to let them in. And you can do that. It's easy."

She then turned around and started walking away. Almost 10 feet before she reached the exit, she turned around with a serious expression on her face. "Oh, and don't keep it all bottled up inside you, because one day you are going to blow up and hurt the people you care about. Talk to someone. Anyone."

With that said, she walked towards the elevator, leaving a stunned McGee behind.

He's been thinking of his encounter with Bishop for the past few days.

Maybe she was right, maybe McGee needed to talk to someone. Someone who understood him and could offer him some kind of support.

Tony was dismissed as he had his own problems trying to cope with Ziva's departure, which was 10 times more difficult for him, because of the way he feels for her. Jimmy was out of question too, because he was busy with the adopting process and would not be of much help. Ducky would probably tell him a story about some girl who dumped him and as much as Mcgee respected the old man, he was not really in the mood to listen to him. Director Vance had lost his wife just a year ago, but he was the Director, which only left one person that he could talk to. "The functional mute" as Tony called him.

But after what he said at the bullpen the other day, how could he talk to him? After lots of thinking he decided to give it a try. What was there to lose? His job maybe, but it wasn't that important to him anymore.

He steped away from his computer, patted Jet, grabbed his keys, phone and jacket making his way to the elevator. He pushed the button that led to the garage and waited patiently for the ride to end, until his reflexion on the mirrors that surrounded the inside of the elevator, caught his attention. He moved closer and studied himself. He looked like hell. He had scars all over his face from the explosion, which had yet to heal. His forehead had whrinkles, which were not there 2 weeks ago and the heavy black bags under his eyes suggested that hadn't slept much lately.

How could he? Every time he closed his eyes memories of the explosion and the funeral came crashing into. All he did was punch the punching bag he had in his office or play computer games where he got to punch digital men.

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. He made his way to his dark-blue Ford and began driving.

It didn't take him long to arrive at Gibbs's house. As usual the door was unlocked. He got inside and looked around. Apparently Gibbs hadn't bought any new furniture, but had fixed the ones that got damaged during the home invasion.

The only light illuminating the house came from the basement. Slowly he began walking down the stairs that laid to the basement. It was the first time he was doing this. He knew that Tony and Ziva visited him frequently, but Mcgee just didn't have a reason until today.

He reached the bottom but Gibbs didn't stop what he was building to look at him or even acknowledge his presence.

Gibbs was putting together something that looked like a crib. "Why would Gibbs making a crib?" he wondered, but soon realised that Gibbs might knew about Jimmy's adoption and decided to build him a crib. A beautiful one.

"Your door was unlocked" he said sitting on a nearby stool. Gibbs didn't respond, he just moved near a cupboard and grabbed a bottle of bourbon, along with a glass and placed it in front of him. McGee looked at him in confusion, until he saw Gibbs taking a sip from his coffee mug, which he was certain did not contain coffee. McGee poured himself some bourbon and took a sip. The liquid burned down his throat, until it reached its' destination. McGee was silent for a few minutes before he spoke.

"Boss, I'm sorry for the way I talked to you at the office. I was out of line."

All Gibbs said was _Rule 6. _"Never apologise. It's a sign of weakness."

"I know it is... but-"

"But nothing Tim. You had just lost your girlfriend and you were in pain. I understand why you wanted to work. I did the same thing when Shannon and Kelly died. I wanted to get debloyed again, so that the battle field would take my mind of them. But that didn't work. I wan't any help to my team, which was put in more danger than usual. Had it not been for my Sergeant who sent me home to face my pain, I would have gotten my squad and myself killed."

McGee was taken aback by Gibbs's confession. He wanted to say something in responce, but his voice was stuck somewhere in his throat.

"That's the reason why I said that you needed to go home. Your mind would not be on the job, but on Delilah and noone would blame you for that, but you are more important than Parsa. You have the right to mourn her death."

McGee was trying to process Gibbs's words, while nursing his drink. "I feel like my house is killing me. Everywhere I look I see her or something that belongs to her. I can't stay 5 minutes in there before I break down. I haven't had a proper meal in two weeks, my trash bin is full of take out boxes and bottles of alcohol. I'm so wasted, that I don't even recognise myself when I look at the mirror and Jet... Jet is doing his best to comfort me, but as a dog, he can't do much. And as if I'm not going through enough, my father has 3rd cancer and will die soon."

Tears were streaming down his face freely. He didn't know if Gibbs had noticed them or not. Frankly, he didn't give a damn.

"Why is everyone I love and care about leaving me? Aren't I good enough for them? Am I doing something wrong?" asked McGee in a desperate voice that broke Gibbs's heart.

"Does God hate me that much as to give me only sorrows?" he whispered.

Gibbs didn't answer. What could he tell him? He wasn't known for offering words of comfort.

McGee was quiet for some time. He fished the ring out of his left jacked pocked and began playing with it.

"When I met Delilah I thought that she was the one. She was like no other woman I've ever dated. She was unique and I loved her and she loved me." He raised his hand like he wanted to show the ring to Gibbs. "Last month I was walking down the street when I passed a jewellery store. This ring cauht my attention. It fit her perfectly. It was simple yet so beautiful. I had been thinking of proposing to her for a long time, but I just hadn't found the ring or the right moment. Until that day. I was so excited that even Delilah noticed the change in my mood."

His lips turned slightly upwards as he remembered that day. They were having dinner at his house and he had cooked a pizza that he almost burned thanks to his nervousness and excitement.

"You didn't get to propose" stated Gibbs. He felt sorry for the kid. He didn't get his chance in happiness.

"No I didn't. I was planning to. Next week." he said pocketing the ring. He couldn't look at it anymore.

"Yesterday, her landlord called me. He needed someone to vacate her apartment and take care of her stuff. Her parents are back in Seattle so I did it. I spent the day going through her things. I donated all her furniture and clothes, I sent her jewellery to her mother and I kept her book and music collection. You have no idea how difficult it was for me being in her apartment without her. I felt like she was with me and for a moment I thought that she was still alive, but was just moving out. For one single moment I was happy again. However,it was just a moment and it was gone before I even opened my eyes. There is one thing that I don't know if I should get rid of it or not. Our photo album. Delilah loved photography and took photos of us all the time. At the beginning I was annoyed by it, but in the end it was just one of the many things that I loved about her." he said and looked at Gibbs like he had the answer to all his problems like he always did.

"Keep 'em. They are memories which you don't want to forget. And when you meet-"

"-I'm never going to meet someone like her. No woman would make me that happy. I'm sure about it."

"You don't know that kiddo, you don't."

They both sat in comfortable silence, until McGee asked the question he had in mind from the beginning.

"Boss, what do I do now?"

Gibbs let out a sigh before he responded. "You take some more time off and then you move on."

"But what if I can't? What if the pain is just unbearable?"

"You can't play the -what if- game, Tim. It won't do you any good. You have to go on with your life. You don't want to end up like me. My example is not a good one." Gibbs said while pouring himself another glass.

"Thank you, Boss." McGee said while getting up. "You really helped me, but I should probably head home. Goodnight."

"Night."

McGee was at the bottom of the stairs, when he heard Gibbs ask. "Do you want to stay for dinner? I'm making steaks." he asked titling his head. McGee turned around facing him.

"Why not?" he said climbing the stairs.

Moving on with his life would be difficult, but not impossible.

**Thanks for reading. I hoped you liked it. Leave us a review and let us know what you think. **

**Until next time(which will be soon) STAY HOT!**


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